Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“Besides, I pretty much wear the same suit every day,” I add.
“Suits?” Magnus says, brows raised. “No, no. You don’t wear suits when you’re here. When we’re out and about, yes. I don’t know why every member of the protection force has to cosplay as James Bond, but fine, I get it. But here? In this house? In your home? No. No suits. You wear what you like.”
“I only have suits,” I tell him. And I like suits, especially for the James Bond aspect of them. When I was young and living in threadbare hand-me-down clothes salvaged from a donation bin, I’d always admired the businessmen on the tube going to their jobs, dressed in their suits, looking so distinguished, like they had a real place in the world, something I had always lacked. Besides, they hide my gun.
He gives me another hearty slap on the back. “Not a problem. Tomorrow, we’ll go into the city and get you something nice to wear. Now come on, the tour continues.”
A shopping expedition for myself on my first full day on the job? I don’t think so.
“I’m really okay with my suits,” I tell Magnus, following him out of the room. I look at Ottar for support, but he just smiles and nods, as if this is a normal thing.
“Nonsense,” Magnus says, then raps his knuckles along the wall and points to the room next to mine. “This is your lady friend’s room,” he says, then glances at me over his shoulder. “I don’t have to tell you to keep it in your pants, do I?” Before I can even respond to that, he continues. “Good. Just wanted to make sure.”
Oh fuck. Why would he even bring that up? Maybe he thinks that sleeping together is a predetermined thing just because she happens to be stunningly attractive. Or he thinks we’ve already slept together and he wants to warn me that we’re not allowed to do it again. Or he knows the truth. We slept together, things blew up in our faces, and now we’re mortal enemies.
“Don’t worry,” Ottar says to me with a wag of his brows. “He’s warning Lady Jane to stay away from me all the time. She finds me irresistible.”
“Speaking of Lady Jane,” Magnus says as we step inside a large country-style kitchen, “here she is. She’s been part of Ella’s life as her personal assistant for such a long time, she’s one of the family.”
A woman I assume is Lady Jane is sitting at a table in the corner, the biggest mug of tea I’ve ever seen in her hands.
She looks up at me in surprise and smiles, lowering the bowl of tea. “The fresh blood is here!”
Lady Jane is a robust woman with a round face, big smile, and bright eyes, her dark blunt bangs above them acting like a frame. I already like her, even though she’s only said a few words.
She gets out of her seat, the chair moving back noisily on the tile floor, then comes over to me, both hands out to shake mine. “I’m Jane, Ella’s lady-in-waiting. You can call me Lady Jane, or Jane, makes no difference to me since I’m not an actual lady,” she says in a Liverpool accent as she looks me over with a wry twinkle in her eyes. “My, aren’t you a handsome one? And Scottish too. Oh, Ella and I had a ball when she was studying at St. Andrews. I have to say, it’s a relief to have someone from the UK here among all these Europeans. Even if it is Scotland.”
“Nice to meet you,” I tell her, but she’s shaking my hand more than I’m shaking hers. “The name is James.”
“James Hunter,” Magnus supplies. “So now we have to figure out whether you want to be called by your first name or your last name.”
“I’m fine with either one.” When I worked for Eddie and Monica, they called me James. When I worked for the Belgian royal family, back in the day, they addressed me as Hunter.
“Aren’t you agreeable,” Magnus says, then looks over his shoulder. “Ella! There you are. Where have you been hiding?”
I turn to see Princess Ella standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She’s wearing skinny jeans, a Fair Isle sweater—the super-itchy-looking kind—and big fluffy socks, her blond hair braided to the side. She’s very delicate-looking, like a fairy princess instead of an ordinary one, but I can tell from the lift of her jaw that she’s a force to be reckoned with.
“I was working,” she tells Magnus as she walks toward us, fixing her blue eyes on me.
“So you’re James,” she says, her voice soft, a mixture of a British and German accent. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I already know she has a different approach than Magnus does. I bow. “It’s an honor to be serving you, Your Majesty.”